The Snowball
by Twilight Writing Contest
Summary: Entry 1: By Love.Me.At.First Sight. "Takes Place during 'lost time' in New Moon-December 13, Everything Bella sees reminds her of Edward; everything."


**By: Love Me At First Sight**

**The Snowball**

**Summary: Takes Place during 'lost time' in New Moon-December 13, Everything Bella sees reminds her of Edward, everything.**

It was December. More specifically, it was December 13th, a date notable because it serves as a reminder of the day everything went wrong, when my life became twisted, and turned, and changed into something other than what I always thought it was destined to be.

Maybe, a happy life with Edward wasn't in the cards. I knew he was too perfect, that I'd never be able to satisfy the only person who could ever satisfy me. It's like that old saying - Once you've tasted wine, you'll never go back to water.

So here I am, sitting on my bed, staring out the window and trying to keep my violent cries silent. Because what before was numbness, is now excruciating pain. I see children on the street, dressed in cheery-colored knitted hats and thick gloves to keep warm. A little girl patting together a snowball from snow scattered in patches across the ground, taking great care in making it perfectly round, only to throw it at the back of her loving father; he then turns and pretends to cry, covering his eyes with his hands and making fake whimpering sounds. . .I assume. The little girl rushed to him, patting his arm and probably whispering pleas and apologies. The father, laughing, taking his baby girl with him and propping her on his hip, before walking to wherever he might be going in the small, eerie town of Forks. I don't know why at this point, but the picture makes me cry harder, and I finally let the sound my body has been dying to make escape me.

* * *

><p>Hours later, I try to forget all that has happened, in desperate attempts to regulate my breathing after my sobs had taken to less volume and strength. But, even still, the breath I manage is sending daggers down my throat, doing only very little for my damaged lungs. As the blood flow in my head regulates, I realize why the picture had upset me; because that father was lucky to have a little girl like her. <em>He<em> was that little girl, symbolically. He had taken my life from ground up, and built it to something I was proud of; something I had been perfectly content with. He took every little imperfectness, and rounded it off until there was nothing he could have done to make my life more perfect. This, though, was completely useless, because he threw it. He threw my life around like a freaking snowball after he had made it perfect. Did he give up? How was I to know? But, even still the point of the story is that he threw my life around, straight at me, telling me to figure out my pathetic problems alone with no help from him whatsoever. But-and this is where the father is lucky-the little girl cared that she had potentially hurt her father's feelings. _She cared_ that she had possibly damaged her father in such a way that could change his life forever. _She cared_ enough to stay for the aftermath of what she had done. _She cared_ enough to fix what she had done, and to comfort her father and make sure he was okay.

If He didn't love me, why would he care what effects his words had on me? Was I just feeling sorry for myself?

This is most definitely me either feeling sorry for myself, or reading too much into a father-daughter interaction. I mean, who knows? That little girl could grow up and make the most awful decisions, and not even remember that her father exists. Is anyone honest and considerate anymore? I don't think so.

Everything I see, do, hear, or touch reminds me of Him. It doesn't help that it's cold, cold like his skin when his muscular arms were wrapped around me. Only this cold is different, because when he was here, I was whole. . .and he's gone, so no longer will I be the same as I was.

_Everything _reminds me of Him. Even a snowball fight I watch from the depths of my dark, quiet room. . . .everything.


End file.
